United, we stand tall
by Bernard and Spinach
Summary: Harry is back for his 7th year, but things are going wrong at Hogwarts. The Death Eaters are getting stronger, while Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron slowly learn how strong their friendship will have to be.
1. At the Dursleys

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I still don't own this. And, believe me, I do check.

Harry

I was sitting on the Dursley's doorstep, trunk beside me, Hedwig sleeping in her cage, when Dudley cam home, gang in tow.

"Your stupid friends not picked you up you up yet?" he jeered. "Can't say I blame them for wanting to spend less time with you."

"Dudley," I replied, in my most compassionate voice, "my friends are the ones with IQs over, what, 70? Your friends are the stupid ones."

A couple years ago, that would have been a really dumb thing to say. Hell, a couple years ago, breathing would be dumb enough to get me beaten up. I think the Dementor thing really shook poor Duddy-kins up, though, because all he did was sneer at me and then take his friends inside, no doubt to all kill each other on his new computer game.

Next year, I'm going to take my chances without blood protection and stay as far away from the Dursleys as possible.

Or at least, I'll stay in London, which is far enough, really. Next year, I'm going into Auror training, and will never say so much as hello to the Dursleys ever again. I haven't as yet confirmed this plan with Dumbledore, but he can't exactly object. I mean, how can living with the Dursleys possibly protect me from Voldemort more than living with lots of Aurors? Well, trainee-Aurors, really. If it doesn't protect me from Voldemort, it will at least stop me from killing myself out of boredom, which has to be a good thing.

Not that I would really commit suicide. My list of people who want to kill me is long enough without adding myself to it. Last year, I got really depressed about Sirius' death, but I learned that you have to look on the good side of things, or you end up just grinding to a halt and drowning in your own self-pity or self-loathing.

Which is not a good thing.

So this year, seventh year, final year, I'm going to be a happy and fulfilled individual, who industriously works towards good grades, even in Potions (as long as Voldemort stops trying to kill me for long enough to allow me to do so). I'm even going to strive for inter-house unity (which is the politically correct way of asking everyone else to put up with the Slytherins). That is, as long as they stop acting quite so much like, well, Slytherins.

I reckon I should move on from Cho as well – she's just too complicated. I understand the words she says, but I need Hermione to tell me what she actually means. And Cho doesn't like Hermione, for some reason. I don't understand girls. Except Hermione and Ginny, but they aren't proper girls – they just happen to be female.

Speaking of whom, I think that's the Weasley's new car approaching. I stood up, smiling, half glad to see them, half glad to finally stop sitting on the doorstep, which isn't the most comfortable place in the world. The car pulled up outside.

"Harry!" It was Hermione, who'd managed to fling her arms around me practically before I even saw her open the car door. She let me go, but started talking before I could get a word in edgeways.

"Harry, how are you? How was your summer?" I don't know if she expected to answer me or not, but she kept on talking, so I don't think so. And, damn, can she talk fast.

"Our summer, oh, it was so frustrating. You know how Fred and George joined the order last year? Well, all this summer, they've just been walking around with these really superior smiles on their faces and they won't tell us what's going on and it's just so…"

"Hermione," Ron said, saving me. He's probably the only one brave enough to interrupt her. Or stupid enough. "Give the guy some space." He walked round the car to me, eyebrows raised.

"The worst part of this summer was having to listen to her stress 24 hours a day!" he said, making me laugh. He laughed as well. Hermione didn't.

"You shouldn't tease me, Ron. There's a lot to worry about…"

"What, like whether you'll be Head Girl?" he retorted, before turning to me. "She actually thinks there's a chance someone else will get it, because of all the other clever, responsible, perfect Head Girl material people in our year." He rolled his eyes.

I looked at Hermione – "Is he serious? You're actually worried you might not get to be Head Girl?"

"I was worried about you as well, Harry. And if I'm not over confident about securing that position, then it's a good thing," she said, sniffily.

I couldn't help cracking up. "Hermione," I said, as soon as I could breathe properly again, "Dumbledore probably had you down as Head Girl before you even put the Sorting Hat on your head."

"Don't be silly, Harry," she said, but there was a hint of pride in her voice, as if her 11-year-old self had wanted nothing more than for the headmaster to come up to her and tell her that she'd make a great Head Girl one day. Which, as this is Hermione, it probably hadn't.

"Are you kids going to help Harry with his bags or not?" Mr Weasley asked, getting out of the driver's seat.

"Just going, dad," Ron said. So we heaved my bags into the back of the car.

"Harry, for someone who's not got much stuff, your bag weighs a tonne," Ron complained. I had packed everything I owned, so as to save myself an unnecessary trip back to the Dursleys at the end of the year before I left for good.

Mr Weasley slammed the boot door shut as soon as we got my bags in. He patted the car fondly. "Marvellous invention, really," he said, before getting back in. "Aren't you going to say goodbye, Harry?" he asked, seeing me already comfortably seated in the back. Might as well, really.

"BYE!" I yelled out the window, as we drove away, watching the house disappear as we turned the corner. Hopefully, I'll never have to see 4 Privet Drive again.

. 

Ok, so what do you think? Crap, crap, or really crap? Sorry in advance (or possibly already) if there are any really hated clichés, but I feel I deserve to be self-indulgent after restraining from putting any in my stories for English.

Oh yeah, for anyone who hasn't read a multiple narration story before, the title chapter is the name of the narrator of that chapter. I'm probably the only one dumb enough for it to take about 20 chapters of this multiple narration book I read to figure that out, but just in case, that's how it works.


	2. The Joys of Shopping

Disclaimer: Hmmmm…still not mine… Note to self: do something to rectify this situation

Ginny

Harry had been staying with us for about three weeks when the Hogwarts letters arrived. I was sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast with Hermione, when the owl swooped in, our letters all attached to its leg. Hermione's face, I swear, actually paled as she reached for her letter – I didn't bother going for mine, as I felt it might detract from the gravity of the situation. She broke the seal, unfolded the letter – all with utmost dignity – read for about half a second, and then screamed.

She, of course, protests, that it was simply a little squeal of excitement (and that under duress) but I know better. After her 'little squeal', which could be heard at the other end of the house, I'm sure, she spent a couple seconds hyperventilating, before turning to me, and saying (really, really quickly),

"Merlin, you'll never believe this, Ginny, but, I can't believe Dumbledore, and Harry and Ron were always saying I would, but I never really thought, I mean there were loads of other candidates, but…" She took a breath. "Ginny, I'm Head Girl!"

I stared dispassionately at my cereal. "Really?" I said, sounding disappointed. "I was hoping Pansy would get it." Possibly one of the biggest lies I've ever told in my life, but it was worth it just to see the look on her face.

"Ginny, you can't be serious!" she sounded shocked and betrayed. I should feel guilty really, but instead I burst out laughing. I suppose I would have got a lecture at that point, had not Ron ran in at that moment, shouting something that sounded embarrassingly similar to "I'll save you!"

Apparently, you really could hear her scream at the other end of the house; turns out that I am the font of all knowledge.

Once Ron had been reassured that there weren't any evil villains attempting to kill us, and that the biggest danger we faced was, in fact, the pointy bit of Hermione's Head Girl badge, he sat down, in a mood. Honestly, you'd think he'd be pleased that, for once, our lives weren't actually in danger, but apparently not.

Ok, I admit, the fact that I was rolling around on the floor laughing at him may not have helped his mood, but what was I meant to do? He had come running in, every inch a hero, except for the fact that he was still wearing his old Martin the Mad Muggle pyjamas. If you were a Death Eater, and my brother, who can be quite a terrifying person (as I know from personal experience, after eating the last of the pumpkin pasties) had charged you wearing those pyjamas, would you be even the slightest bit scared? I thought not.

By the time I managed to pick myself up, Harry had come down as well (but he had the sense to realise that there hadn't been any Death Eaters). After congratulating Hermione and enquiring if I was quite recovered, he helped himself to some toast and sat down next to Ron, whose ears were still scarlet about the whole thing.

This was pretty much how we had spent the holidays – not doing much. It wasn't the most exciting summer I've ever had, but it was fun, just hanging out and talking. We did have the occasional conspiracy against the adults to try to find out what the order was doing, but, basically, I was kind of glad about the whole age limit thing. I didn't really want to risk my life, at least not just yet. Not that I'd ever let any of the others know that, but it was true nonetheless.

We decided to go to Diagon Alley the next day to pick up all our stuff. It was much the same as ever, except with 'Back to School' sales in most of the shops. I usually love shopping, but then again, usually, I'm in Hogsmeade with my friends, loitering in the expensive shops, salivating over stuff that I could never realistically afford, or buying as much from Honeydukes as I think my stomach could cope with. Best of all is the major discounts I'm entitled to at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes though. Not that Fred and George agreed to that without some persuasion (i.e. the threat of Bat Bogey Hexes).

Whereas now I'm buying stationary and wondering whether I need some new school robes, which isn't really that much fun. Especially as it means that the holidays will end soon. Not that I don't love Hogwarts – it's a great place. It's just hard to look forward to going back to homework and time management – things I've never been good at and don't plan to excel at this year, either. Mum must have noticed my not-exactly-joyous expression, because she said (after a long suffering sigh) –

"Ginny, if you're that bored, I'll get your books from Flourish and Blotts and you can entertain yourself somewhere else. In fact," she continued, surveying Ron, Harry and Hermione, "why don't I get all your books for you?"

"You sure?" I asked. I knew she'd say yes, but she likes us to ask – thinks it makes us sound polite or something. She nodded, as expected. "Thanks, mum." It is interminably boring to buy school textbooks, so I was laying on the politeness in the hope that she'd agree to do some other interminably dull activities, such as getting me a new quill.

Hermione apparently disagrees with my view point about buying textbooks, because, when given a choice between friends and bookshop, she didn't think very long. "I think I'll go with you," she said to mum. "You know, to help carry our books and maybe pick up some light reading."

"Only the six books, then?" Ron muttered, but she ignored him.

"We shouldn't be too long," mum said, and with that, she left for Florish and Blotts, Hermione trailing behind her.

"I don't know what you guys want to do, but I need some more owl treats for Hedwig," Harry said.

"Pet shop it is, then," Ron replied, "but only if you make Ginny promise not to feed Pig any." He looked depressed – Pig got even more hyper than usual after owl treats.

"I promise," I said, starting to walk towards the pet shop with them. "But I think he's cute when he's hyper." Which is true – he looks ever so sweet when he's dive-bombing anything in sight.

"It's not your room mum locks him in when he starts breaking things," Ron muttered darkly. "That's one Cannons poster I'll never see again."

"I'm sure he's really sorry about that," Harry said, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. It was pretty funny, actually – not that I would say that to Ron's face. But then –

"Potter," a cold voice interrupted out conversation. I looked up to find the source of the voice, only to see Draco Malfoy, proud winner of prick of the year since he'd been born. Probably since the womb, actually.

"What, no Mudblood?" he asked, sneering. "But then I suppose Weaselette isn't much better."

I think I'd be right in saying that all three of us shot venomous glares at him. "What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, with no attempt to suppress his anger.

"Me?" Malfoy asked, his voice feigning surprise. "I don't _want_ anything, Potter. I was just counting…" his voice trailed off, leaving silence until Harry spoke again.

"Counting what?" I think he knew that Malfoy would reply with something malicious, but I also know that Harry doesn't like to waste an opportunity to fight him.

"Well," Malfoy looked thoughtful, "there's your parents, of course – that's two – and Diggory makes three. Then there's your godfather – four." He paused then, to look Harry in the eyes – "Are you still angry with yourself about that one, Potter?" he asked, the innocent tone of voice belying the sneer of hatred and contempt on his features. "To be honest, we were all amazed you were dumb enough to fall for it."

Finally, Harry reacted.

Quick as a flash, Harry's wand was in his hand and pointed at Malfoy's temple. "Shut the hell up, Malfoy, or, so help me, I'll…"

"You'll what, exactly?" Malfoy interrupted. "Kill me?" He gave a short, humourless laugh. "There are more than thirteen witnesses here, Potter, which was enough to convict Black and he didn't even do anything."

Harry didn't move.

"Go on then," Malfoy urged. "Kill me. And spend the rest of your life in Azkaban, listening to the voices of everyone else you've killed."

"I haven't killed anyone!" Harry yelled, making everyone in the street who wasn't already gawking at us to turn and look. Suddenly, Harry's voice went quiet, but it was still filled with hatred. "That's the kind of twisted thing you do in your spare time, Malfoy." He paused, before repeating, this time, calmer, "I haven't killed anyone."

"You haven't killed anyone?" Malfoy sneered. "What about the four people I just mentioned? It's your fault they're dead." An exaggerated look of confusion appeared on his face – "Isn't that the same thing?"

"You bastard!" Harry yelled. He was visibly shaking. "You've got no fucking idea what you're talking about!"

Malfoy laughed. He obviously knew he had got to Harry and, merlin, how I hated him for it. "Who's next, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his head cocked to one side, seeming unbothered by Harry's wand. He grinned – "Hope it's the Mudblood."

And, suddenly, Malfoy had two wands pointed at his head. "You're sick, Malfoy," Ron spat, his hand gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Malfoy seemed unfazed by this. He must be bloody crazy not to have been scared with two wands pointed at him, particularly when those wands were held by people as volatile as Harry and Ron. I wasn't sure what to do – on the one hand, I didn't want to see my brother and his best friend murder someone, but on the other hand, it was Malfoy.

"Maybe it should be a Weasel," Malfoy said, reflectively. He seemed to like the idea. "Should really be several Weasels to bring them down from plague proportions to just vermin."

Deep breaths, I kept telling myself, take deep breaths. Then his eyes locked with mine and, you know how in books, people's blood runs cold? Well mine actually did. "Starting with Weaselette, I think; by rights, she should have died six years ago."

And, just like that, there was no dilemma in my mind; my wand was pointed at him as well. The bastard deserved everything he got. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't think so.

"Stop it!" she yelled, running towards us out of nowhere, hair flying all over the place. Obviously someone had thought to go to the bookshop and tell her and mum what was happening. If only they had done so a couple seconds later – I had been so close to finishing saying a good curse.

She reached us and stopped. "He's not worth it," she said, panting, shaking her head at us, her eyes imploring us.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Mudblood?" Malfoy spat, venom in his glare.

She ignored him, looking at us still. "This is what he wants – you'll go to Azkaban if you do anything and then where would we be?" She was looking at Harry specifically, now. And I realised, disappointed as it made me, that she was right, as always. I lowered my wand.

"Come on, guys," I said. "He'll end up dead or in Azkaban by the time this war's over, anyway."

Malfoy laughed condescendingly. "You really think you'll win?" He smiled – "How sweet."

"No, Malfoy," I said calmly, surprising him. "I know we'll win." And I turned on my heel and left, the others following my lead.

"Then you're either dumber than you look or delusional!" Malfoy yelled after us, but we had won.

Just like we'll win this war.

Sorry about the slow update time and that, but had French oral and really should be preparing for German one. Not that anyone cares as there is a grand total of zero reviews – obviously should stick to parodies.

BUT NO! I've already planned this thing, so I'm going to write it and release it on a world of fan fiction undeserving of that level of cruelty.

Even so, just one little review would be nice, just so I know I'm not a total reject sob. (Note to self: there's no point appealing to the emotions of a target audience if there is NO audience even more sobs)

Yeah, it does get slightly more exciting in a couple chapters (gosh, I hear you say, do they do activities as thrilling as watching paint dry?) so hang on in there, little imaginary audience.


	3. The Hogwarts Express

Disclaimer: If I said it was mine, would you believe me? Coz if you wouldn't, I might as well lie my head off and say it is… IT'S MINE, ALL MINE insert maniacal laughter here

Oooh, that felt good.

Hermione

Head girl.

I still can't believe it.

But the badge is there, pinned on my robes, so it must be true. I touched it again to make sure I wasn't just hallucinating.

"You're not still obsessing about that badge, are you?" Ginny asked, but she smiled as she said it.

"Maybe," I grinned back. She doesn't understand why it means so much to me, but she didn't even make prefect and seemed happy about it.

I don't understand some people.

I patted my badge once more, before zipping up my case and lugging it downstairs, Ginny following suit. The boys were already outside, putting their belongings in the Weasley's car.

"Sorry we got help up," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Hermione had to check that her badge hadn't randomly disappeared."

"You're getting worse than Percy," Harry teased me, gently.

That simple remark was all it took for the atmosphere to change completely.

"She could never be worse than Percy," Ginny snapped, a bitter scowl clouding her countenance, anger flashing in her eyes.

"Ginny?" Harry asked, clearly unsure how to react. "What's…"

"Just leave it, Harry," Ron interrupted. "Just…" he trailed off, either unable to phrase his thoughts or simply following his own advice.

Just then, Mrs Weasley stepped out of the front door. "Is everything alright?" she asked, sensing the tension.

"Yeah," Ron muttered, "we're fine."

Mrs Weasley looked doubtful, but there was no time to investigate or we would be late for the train. "Well," she said, her gaze travelling over the four of us," this might cheer you up – if we leave now, we may even arrive at the station early." So we all bundled into the car and set off.

The strained atmosphere continued throughout the car journey, intimidating all my pitiful attempts at conversation into silence. I couldn't blame Harry for mentioning Percy – I'm sure he was told, as I was, that Percy had apologised for his appalling behaviour and had been welcomed back into the family. I wasn't confident, however, that he had realised, as I had, that in reality, the Weasleys hardly ever saw Percy any more and most of them were still angry about his betrayal.

When we finally entered the train, I was glad for the excuse of the prefects' meeting – which I would be heading (!) – to escape. Leaving Harry and Ginny to argue it out amongst themselves made me feel slightly, mainly because it also made me feel so relieved.

The prefects' meeting went much the same as last year: patrol the corridors, help the first years, try to maintain order (to the new prefects) and well done last year, more of the same, I hope you find the rest of the school willing to co-operate and are able to work under me as head girl – I got such a buzz out of saying that – (to the old prefects).

Thankfully, the Head boy is Ernie Macmillan – I had a terrifying moment when I thought it might be Malfoy, but, luckily, the temporary insanity that made Dumbledore appoint him as prefect had not returned this year while he was deciding who would be the heads of school. On reflection, it was probably all that ministry influence and all those awful educational decrees that made Malfoy prefect, not the onset of senility in Dumbledore.

By the time we found Harry, he and Ginny had indeed argued it out. From the red, blotchy look of Ginny's face, it had not been a calm argument. However, harmony had apparently returned in the form of a heated discussion on Chaser formations in Quidditch.

"Triangle movement," Harry said, vehemently. "It's a classic and it works."

Ginny had started shaking her head as soon as Harry had begun talking. "No," she said," you need a Chaser free in-case a bludger gets one and knocks the Quaffle out."

I doubt they even noticed we were back.

"I'm going to patrol now, if you keep on talking about this," I said, interrupting Harry, who was listing the advantages of a "tight formation" – whatever that is.

Harry looked up, initially surprised to see me, but it soon passed. "Ok," he shrugged and went on to explain about superior defence and such things.

I had been planning to drag Ron along with me, but – "Harry, mate, the same effect could be achieved with reasonably accurate Beaters – what you want is a decoy Chaser, who…"

I walked out of the compartment – it looked like I was on my own. It's a strange thing about Ron – he sounds quite intelligent when talking about Quidditch, but as soon as the conversation turns to something interesting – say, the mystery of ancient runes – he just turns off.

I had been patrolling uneventfully for about twenty minutes and was about to turn back when I heard it –

"Give her back! You're hurting her! Give her back!" a young girl's voice cried.

I ran towards the source of the voice and, as I turned into the compartment, found exactly what I had been expecting: a group of Slytherins terrorising a first year.

"Leave her alone," I ordered, my hand travelling to the pocket where my wand was kept. The Slytherins – third years, I think – had stolen the girl's kitten and levitated it out of reach. The kitten, for obvious reasons, was not very comfortable with the situation and was meowing piteously.

"Get the cat down and get out of here," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"What you going to do about it, mudblood?" the ringleader sneered. He spat on my shoes, obviously finding it a more eloquent way of communicating that his individual approach to wit. I have to say that I agree with him on that point.

"I was going to give you a week of detentions, but, now you ask, two weeks sounds better," I replied, sweetly.

That his highly effective intimidation tactics hadn't produced the desired result seemed to anger the boy, for – "You mudblood bitch! Scum like you shouldn't even be allowed at Hogwarts!" Or, at least, that was the gist of what he actually said, which had contained slightly more profanities.

"And you shouldn't be allowed in civilisation, but, unfortunately, people will insist on tolerance," I replied.

And then his wand was out and pointed at me, soon followed by the rest of the gang's wands. "You want to watch your mouth," he hissed. At that moment, I realised two things: a) there were seven of them and one of me, and b) it probably wasn't such a great idea to rile someone who had already displayed sadistic tendencies.

Still, best not to show your fear.

"And I'm meant to be scared of a bunch of third-years?" I asked.

I don't know how they would have responded, had not Ron chosen that moment to walk in.

"Hermione! Hannah said she'd seen you come in her," Ron said brightly, seemingly unaware of the situation. Then he saw all the wands pointed at me – "Oh."

"You guys going to give up yet?" I asked them.

"What? Because two against seven is such better odds than one against seven?" the lead-boy scoffed.

"No," Ron said, brightly, "but two against seven doesn't seem so bad when there are six Hufflepuffs across the corridor, who would be very wiling to help us."

The boy didn't answer for a long time, deliberating whether loosing face by walking away was worse than loosing face by being beaten. Fortunately, he had a shred of intelligence.

"Come on, guys," he said to the rest of the group. "It would be too easy to beat them – we might as well save ourselves the boredom." And they walked out.

"Accio cat," I said, braving myself for the claws of the poor thing. I needn't have bothered – it simply used me as a springboard to get to the floor and then ran off.

The little girl still looked terrified. "Thanks," she stuttered. "That was – thanks…" she trailed off, then looked behind her in the direction the cat had run. "I should probably go find Socks," she said and, at a smile from me, ran off.

"So," Ron said, after she was out of sight, "you want some food or what?"

I looked at him, incredulous.

"The food trolley's going round," he explained. "Why else do you think I came to get you?"

I couldn't help it – I started laughing. All my mental images of Ron as a gallant rescuer, destroyed, I really couldn't do anything else but laugh.

"What?" he asked, bewildered. But that only made me laugh more.

YAY! REVIEWS! You don't know how happy that made me…well, probably you can tell that it inspired me to type up this chapter, so pretty damn happy when I should be memorising a description of my school in German.

Hogwartsquill-seraph: I didn't make Harry head boy coz I figured the whole already got enough responsibility thing would still apply. And as for Malfoy… I guess I'm working on the principle that he's 17, not 13 now and also that, now Voldemort's back, his dad will have got him a lot more involved in Death Eater stuff so he'll be braver coz he's had more experience. I dunno, I'm just writing it how I want them to be for my plot to work out, and I need Malfoy to have a bit more 'confidence' for that to work.

Headless: I plan to finish it, but it might take me a while coz I got a bit over-enthused when I was planning this and it's going to be the longest thing ever (well, aside from, maybe the Great Wall of China) so you'll just have to bear with me. Oh yeah, and when HP6 comes out, I'm going to ignore it completely for the purposes of this story.

Christi-McIntyre: Sorry about the mistakes…I don't really notice them, mainly coz I haven't read 4 and 5 as much as 1,2 and 3 coz I've only got them in hardback, so they're manky to read. I would join your C2 staff, but I'm not entirely sure what that entails or what, in fact, C2 means… Yeah, so much for my pretence at knowledge.

Tschuss! (this is me pretending that I'm doing German revision really)


	4. On Patrol

Disclaimer: if I had a thousand pounds for every time I had to write that all of this is not mine, I would be rich enough to buy the rights off JK Rowling…whether she would sell them to me is another matter entirely. As it stands, it's not mine, and I await the cheque for £1,000 with anticipation.

Ron

Our first week of school was practically over before I had even noticed that it had begun. But, then again, that may have been because I hadn't quite started that massive pile of homework that the teachers had already set us.

"You must do it, Ron," Hermione berated me – but in a strictly anxious tone of voice so I knew she wasn't nagging (Hermione? Nagging? Never happen in a million years!) "You can't just go round hoarding it all year again." Apparently, last year's approach to homework – namely, not doing it – had not gone down very well with her.

"I could always do the rounds by myself," she offered. This is the prefect rounds, you understand, not some sort of shortbread rounds.

"No, you're alright," I said. As if I was letting her patrol by herself after what had happened on the train. And the mad cow insisted on patrolling the Slytherin area as well, because she doesn't trust the Slytherin prefects to "discourage anti-social behaviour", as she puts it.

Honestly, I don't know why Dumbledore doesn't kick all the Slytherins out and be done with it.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yup," I said, firmly. She seemed oddly relieved for someone who had appeared so casual about offering, but all she said was –

"If you're sure." The first half of our rounds – the Gryffindor half – was completely uneventful. The second half – the Slytherin half – seemed, at first, to be nothing unusual. We had been patrolling the Slytherin area since term began, and, every day, the Slytherins had jeered at us and threatened us. So far, we had only had to rescue one Ravenclaw first year, who had got lost and wondered into the Slytherin area. Luckily, we were the first people to find him. Today, a group of fifth years recognised us from a couple days ago.

"Mudblood!" the leader – Timothy Rudd – called out. "I thought we already told you – we don't want filth like you in our corridors."

We walked on – we were here to prevent fights, not to get into them. "It's different if they're attacking someone else," Hermione had told me, "but if it's just us, then there's no point in causing trouble." Even so, I had to tell myself that several times before I gathered sufficient self control to move on.

"Most people have the sense to answer me when they invade my turf," Timothy said, his gang – five others; two girls and three boys – slowly encircling us. "But then, I guess you don't need manners under that rock you crawled out from."

Hermione kept on walking. I should have too, but I was fed up with them sniping at her. I turned to face Timothy.

"If you have a problem with us being here," I said, "then tell Dumbledore. Only, last time I checked, this wasn't Slytherin 'turf', it belonged to Hogwarts."

"Ron, leave it," Hermione snapped, annoyed. But the way I saw it, we were already in the fight – all I had done was try to score some points for our side.

"What? You scared, Mudblood?" a girl, Elyssa, sneered. Hermione didn't say anything. Elyssa smirked – "You should be."

The six of them now surrounded us and they were closing in. "You really want to fight us?" I asked, trying to sound sceptical. "You obviously don't realise quite how many curses we get taught in NEWT Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Timothy laughed – "I bet I know three curses they haven't taught you, and, what a coincidence," he looked around his group, "there are six people here who know them."

"Shall we kill the Mudblood first?" he asked, eyes gleaming. He had turned to his gang, dismissing us. "I'd love to hear her scream."

And suddenly, I was lunging at him. The idiot had his back to us and I managed to push him over, falling on top of him, momentarily before remembering that I was a wizard and could have simply hexed him. Needless to say, the other Slytherins had not forgotten this.

"Get back!" Darren, another of the boys, yelled. "Get back and put your hands up!" His wand was pointed directly at me, as were two others. The remaining two were targeting Hermione.

I obeyed, slowly standing and backing away from Timothy. He, in turn, rolled over and glared at me, hatred sparkling in his eyes. He stood and walked towards me, never taking his eyes of me. Then –

"_Incarcerous!_" Ropes flew out of his wand, binding my arms to my torso and my legs together, making me loose my balance and fall over. But it was relief that flooded through me – he must have been bluffing about knowing the Unforgivables, or he'd have used one, right?

Wrong, as it turned out. Dead wrong.

"You want to fight like this do you?" he asked, kicking me in the stomach, hard. "You want to fight like a filthy muggle?" He kicked me in the stomach again, and then in the face for good measure. I could feel the warm blood dripping out of my nose. This was apparently too much for Hermione.

"Stop it!" she cried. "He's one of you – he's a pureblood! You're making a mistake!"

"This," Timothy breathed, crouching and yanking my head off the floor by my hair, "is not one of us. This is a muggle-lover, a blood-traitor." He dropped my head to the floor again, and stood. "It was you that made the mistake in coming here, Mudblood."

Neither of us spoke. What could we say? Timothy, however, didn't have that problem.

"Someone hold his head up – make him watch," Timothy ordered, his authority unquestioned. Sandra, the second girl, obliged, yanking my head up by my hair again.

"This," Timothy sneered at me, wand pointed at a wide-eyed Hermione, "is why you shouldn't value Mudbloods over your own kind. This," he paused, revelling in the glory, "is how pathetic they truly are." Then –

"_Crucio!_" Timothy using that spell, unexpected as it was, was on of the scariest moments of my life, but it was Hermione's piercing screams that lodged in my head and haunted my dreams. Hermione, being tortured while I did nothing to stop it. Beside me, I could hear Sandra giggling.

Timothy stopped after what seemed like eternity. "You see?" he asked, turning towards me, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "You see how weak, how unworthy she is?" his hand swept towards Hermione, who was still twitching occasionally.

I wanted to shoat at him, to curse him, to hurt him. But I couldn't. All I could do was stare at Hermione, unable to believe what had just happened. I looked up at him, up at his mad grin and the glee that danced around his features, and I felt nothing. No anger, no hatred, just a clinical curiosity as to how he had become this wannabe Death Eater.

But then I saw something that made me recover my senses – a figure at the end of the corridor; a figure wearing blessedly Gryffindor colours.

"Get help!" I yelled, as loud as I could. "Get help!" Timothy's head snapped round and he too saw the Gryffindor. It appeared to occur to him for the first time that he might get caught. He ran, he rest of them soon following, Sandra dropping my head in the process.

As the blackness started to cloud my vision, I could just identify the Gryffindor running towards us: Neville.

"Ron?" he asked, anxiously. "Hermione?"

"Thank Merlin you came," I said. And then the darkness claimed me.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

You people had better review this chapter, otherwise you'll ruin my nice little pattern of no reviews / reviews / no reviews / (and hopefully) reviews.

I have realised that this fic is getting a little heavy, and so have incorporated the following light tension breaking section in this A/N:

set a couple weeks ago

"Yum," said Harry, "ice cream."

"I know," said Ron, as he heaped some more into his bowl. "Whoever thought of ice cream deserves a medal."

Hermione, who had been idly flipping through a large tome entitled 'Useless Facts that Happen to Show Off Hermione's True Geekiness in General Conversation (Volume 23)', chose this moment to speak. "He did get a medal," she said, knowledgeably, "but they made it of ice cream and it melted all over him. Quite sad, really."

The End.

There. Don't you all feel peace and contentment spread throughout your souls? Except for the poor guy with a melting ice-cream medallion.

Oh yeah, I think the whole 'incarceratious' thingy is that one that shoots ropes out of their wands, but if it isn't, don't blame me, blame the website I found it on.


	5. Common Room Fun

Disclaimer: I don't know why I bother really, as no-one seems to be reading this. I could make outrageous claims about my ownership of the following characters/setting etc, and who would ever know?

Draco

Naturally, I was curious when they entered the common room, cheeks flushed and laughing, so I pried. Just gently at first, easing around their consciousness. I felt it getting stronger as I pushed further in – the excitement, the adrenalin; I could feel it start to pump through my veins.

_But, why?_ I selected one of them – Sandra, a rather unpleasant girl, who thought that she belonged in our great house, despite her disgusting squib of an uncle. I quested out, guiding her mind back to whatever had caused this commotion.

Laughter. Screaming – someone else screaming. A body, writhing on the floor. _Who? Look at the face; remember the face._ Sandra, in the present, didn't want to remember, didn't want to see the body as another human being.

_Look!_ I was being more forceful now, no longer edging around, subtly suggesting, but ordering her to do as I said. She knew someone was there now; she knew someone was in her mind. _LOOK!_

Hermione Granger. The image of her face, contorted in agony, appeared so suddenly that it shocked me. Or, at least, that's the only reason I can give for feeling as I did. I should have felt, I don't know, the exhilaration, the power that I normally felt in these circumstances. Instead, there was a kind of numb shock.

I pulled myself together, angry that I had allowed myself to loose focus. _Where?_ My questions were violent now, reflecting my mood. I could see a wall now, with a portrait hanging on it; a portrait just like the one hanging on the wall a couple hundred metres up the corridors.

They couldn't have been that stupid. This was idiocy worthy of Hufflepuff. _The others?_ They appeared in my mind, all five of them, all unmasked. And there was the Weasel, witnessing it all. The retards were actually helping him to witness it. _And after?_ Futilely, I hoped that they had at least killed them, that they had gotten rid of the evidence. But I only saw them running; Sandra had glanced behind her and I could see the two of them moving, hurt but alive.

In that glance, I could also see someone else approaching. Didn't see us, her jumbled thoughts and emotions told me. We saw him and ran – thought he would get teachers. I could feel all her emotions as she felt them – the joy at escaping, the residual fear of being caught, the excitement at what she had just done… Finally, overshadowing all the others, was an overwhelming fear of what I would do to her.

I shook my head to rid it of her feelings as I eased myself out of the voluptuous chair I had been sitting in. Their expressions were unchanged from when they had entered, except for Sandra, whole pale face grew ever paler as I approached.

When I reached them I waited until they noticed I was there, until they were silent, before speaking. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" I spoke as calmly as I could, not wanting to arouse the attention of the entire common room, yet.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Timothy, the leader of the group, said, looking confused.

"In the hall just now," I said, still patient.

He frowned and shook his head. "You've lost me – sorry."

"Don't bullshit, Timothy," I said, "especially not to a legilimens."

"Malfoy, honestly," he looked around his group, as if asking for support, "I don't know what we're meant to have done wrong."

"Hermione Granger," I said, simply. "Name sound familiar to you?"

"Malfoy, you should have been there!" he said, eyes shining. "It was great – we…" And then he must have finally noticed my expression. "We did as the Dark Lord would have wanted," he finished, his voice defiant and defensive, but his face was unsure, asking me, hoping he was right. "We taught that Mudblood a lesson, didn't we, guys?" He turned to the group. None of them responded.

"See, that's funny," I said. "Because I would have thought that the last thing the Dark Lord would have wanted was giving Dumbledore an excuse to kick all the Slytherins out."

There was a shocked silence, then – "What? He couldn't do that!" Darren, one of the others, said.

"You think not? That idiot, Fudge, passed all those decrees two years ago that hindered someone meant to be on his side. What makes you think he won't do worse to us?" I could see them wilting under my stare. _Weak!_ I felt like shouting at them – _unworthy!_

"Getting rid of Slytherins would work rather well – solve all the friction between the houses in this school, stop the Ministry wasting money educating and caring for all us future Death Eaters. It's a marvellous idea – all he needs in an excuse, otherwise there would be uproar. My father would make sure of that."

I felt a rush of pride as I said that; my father, having always known and exploited the weaknesses of Fudge's Ministry, had managed to get out of Azkaban in a matter of weeks.

"You may have just provided that excuse," I said, slowly, deliberately, looking at each of them. "And yet you wonder why I'm angry."

Eventually, Alyssa spoke, her voice querulous – "It was Timothy's idea!" she gabbled. "He," she paused, trying to think of something credible, "he forced us to do it!"

"Yeah, Timothy," the others clamoured, anxious to show that they too were simply unfortunate, manipulated innocents. I smiled reassuringly at them, and they smiled back, not realising that my wand, hidden by my cloak, was pointed right at them.

I muttered a grouping spell and, still smiling, yelled, "_Avada Kedavra_!" Five identical, surprised faces, five lifeless bodies, crumpled to the floor. I returned my gaze to Timothy to find him staring at me.

"You should teach your recruits more loyalty," I explained. "They wouldn't have stood up to the Wizengamot very well."

This seemed to jar his vocal chords into action – "Malfoy, I didn't mean to, I swear. I didn't realise…"

"I should really kill you as well," I said, cutting him off. "Incompetence and aspirations to leadership – they don't mix, Timothy."

"No, you can't! The Dark Lord, he… I'm a Death Eater too!"

"I already told you not to lie to me, Timothy," I said, disbelief at his stupidity showing in my voice. "You aren't a Death Eater – I should know. I am."

"Yeah, but, I'm gonna be!" he said, desperately. "I was at the last meeting – my father took me. I can tell you where it is and everything: in Hogsmeade, King's Street, house…"

He was dead before he finished the sentence. "Never give the location of meetings out," I said, more for the benefit of everyone else who, I was sure, were watching my every move. "You don't know who I could be."

I turned around to face the rest of the common room. It was as I had suspected – every pair of eyes was fixed on me. "Suicide," I said, by way of explanation. "Tragic, really." Then I returned to my seat and let the nervous beginnings of conversations wash over me.

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I like this chapter – it's just so satisfying to write as a complete and utter bastard. Not that anyone's reading this or anything (sob)

Me? Bitter? Whatever gave you that idea?

Yeah, for all those non-existent readers out there, I won't be updating for a while coz I have exams for three weeks, then am off to Spain and then Wales. Should be home around August though. Should really add me to author-alert (if this is what I have been told it is…) to find out when the next chapter's out.

You know what else is satisfying? To write as if I actually have a devoted audience who lap all of this up and beg me for more. Oh well…I can always pretend.


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